Miscellaneous 20
Reboot: Refresh
I know you’ve felt it. I’ve read it, heard it, seen it with other artists- with people in all professions for that matter: You feel lost, like you’re not getting where you had hoped you would by now. Maybe it’s because you stand in your own way or maybe it’s due to circumstances out of your control. Either way, you’re frustrated, discouraged and uncertain.
Or perhaps this is just me. I’ve felt it. I do feel it, often. But I’m betting it’s natural for most of us to feel this way at one time or another.
We set paths for ourselves and so eagerly start out with a jump in our step. Sometimes we meet the end goal with ease and other times the path seems to meander, feeling like we’re being taken off track, or it appears blocked altogether. Some of us lose sight of that which we so eagerly sought, and resign ourselves to believing it’s unattainable. Others believe it still exists, off there, in the distance and one day we’ll arrive.
I do believe we’ll arrive. But what I was reminded of this very weekend is that you have to keep going, and while you do, it’s good to slow down so you can see all of the liveliness along your path. Your path will intersect with others. Why not enjoy what each the other brings, no matter how long it takes to hike that trail?
Nothing we strive for will come instantly. It may take months, years, decades. But in pressing forward and sharing our gifts with others along the way, so much learning takes place that adds to our own strengths and brings life to a sometimes lonely path. When you arrive, you’ll look back knowing that every step added value to the person you have become, and every step ahead on the next journey will too.
KEEP GOING.
Art and Health
The idea that the arts, or creativity in general, are good for the body and soul is nothing new. In fact, there are a lot of studies around it, especially regarding the effects of art therapy on groups combating disease (i.e. Alzheimer’s) or psychological trauma.
What about art for the artist’s soul and health? Undoubtedly, this same idea applies.
Once, I went to visit a very dear friend and mentor in the hospital only months before he passed away. I’ll never forget seeing him with a sketchbook and a full set of colored pencils sprawled out across a tray next to his bed. When I joked that he never stopped working, he said, “Of course not. It’s like breathing for me.”
Talking with another friend recently, we agreed that even after a long dry spell, an artist inevitably gets an itch to make something if for no other reason than to “get it out.” It feels good.
When I make something, it’s often inspired by a feeling, an emotion or sensation. It may derive from joy, sadness, loneliness, silliness, or in today’s case pure anger- and I needed to get it out.
“Knee” doesn’t look angry; it wasn’t meant to. But its creation certainly exercised my own anger. And I think something delicate, maybe even beautiful, came out of it.
Whatever it is you like to do, be it sing, write, draw, paint, sculpt, design or perform, go do it. It’s good for your health.
Seeing into the past
As social media likes to dredge up the memories we committed to the internet, it reminded me today of a very nice and not so distant one. Two years ago, I finished and gave my dad a portrait of his birth mother, Edith. Neither of us had the chance to meet her – she passed two days after he was born. Regardless, I know she was a large influence for him.
Looking at this photo today made a few gears start turning and compelled me to write.
In a recent post, I described the act of creating as the practice of seeing, observing and translating. I left out one detail I think many creative types can agree they experience often: you never stop observing more, and as a result you see the things you could have done differently in your previous work.
It’s not to say that I’m unhappy with the portrait of my grandmother, but there are things I see now that I didn’t before. Taking a step back and looking at it with fresh eyes, I realize I flattened out the planes of space on the left side of her face, and perhaps outlined her teeth less subtly than I should have among a few other things. I won’t go back and do a thing to the drawing because I know it brings my dad joy as it is.
Maybe the aforementioned detail can be said of all things in life. When you leave them behind and revisit them days, weeks, months, or years later, your perspective is inherently different because of all that you have seen and observed in the meantime. Wisdom.
My dad loves to take photographs. He’s done it ever since he was much younger than I am now. Photographs of things we may take for granted…leaves blanketing a forest floor, the snow falling around a lit lamp post, the patterns in tree bark, the winding fence posts that trail off into the horizon, the way light and shadows fall upon a person’s face. My dad loves to see and observe. That’s part of why he’s so wise – and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased (well, maybe I am, but I write in earnest when I say he’s one of the wisest human beings I know and I happen to keep the company of many very smart people). Just as my dad’s “mum” was influential for him, so too is he for me. He taught me how to see and observe.
It’s so easy to stop at seeing. We move from one stimulant to another in milliseconds. But, if you take a minute to observe what you’re seeing, you may comprehend what you couldn’t before – in your art and in your life.